


Marker Mayhem

by Jerevinan



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Childhood, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 16:23:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9615812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jerevinan/pseuds/Jerevinan
Summary: Most kids will draw on walls. Noctis, however, chooses a historic painting, and Ignis must come up with a solution to cover up his mistake.Based on a conversation toward the last stretch of the game.





	

“Oh no, _Noct._ ” 

There was a mark on the painting—perhaps a doodle or a signature, Ignis couldn’t be sure—that was noticeable from a few feet away. Noctis lowered his marker and spun around, eyes wide. 

Ignis hurried over to examine the damage. He couldn’t make out whatever Noctis had been trying to draw, but there was a jumble of thick black lines that proved someone had tampered with it. Specifically, someone _young_. Someone who didn’t have years of artistic practice to hone their skills.

“Your father will be…” Ignis couldn’t finish the sentence. Regis had never been angry; he showed disappointment, and Noctis didn’t need any of his precious and rare father-son time used for a reprimand. “We need paint.”

He collected the marker and took Noctis’ hand. He waited until they were in the elevator before he spoke again. Noctis had already solved that there was a problem, even if he was only five and wasn’t quite sure what he had done wrong. He sniffed next to Ignis as the elevator eased its way downward.

“Why did you draw on it?” asked Ignis gently.

“Wanted to give ‘em a cool sword.”

“Oh.” Ignis grinned, hoping to hide his worry and show Noctis he wasn’t angry. “We’ll fix it. No one will ever know.” He hoped. Now that he was involved, both of them would be in trouble if caught. “What kind of sword?”

Noctis brightened. “It has magic light that hits bad guys!” He punched the air straight in front of him. “Then it pierces them with laser beams!”

“That’s cool! But why didn’t you make your own. It would’ve been better.” _And wouldn’t have ruined anything._ Ignis couldn’t bear to add that.

“Yeah, you’re right! Can we get some paper?”

“First we have to hide what we did.” He didn’t realize he had included himself until the words were out of his mouth. He did feel partially responsible; he had promised he would always keep an eye on the prince. Didn’t that include keeping him out of mischief—even if they were accidents?

“Huh? Why?”

“The artist might wonder why you drew on their picture.”

“To make it cooler.” 

_Of course._

“But what if someone changed one of your drawings?”

Noctis frowned. After a few minutes, Ignis could note the realization spreading on his face.

“I’d be mad,” admitted Noctis.

“Bet the artist would be, too.” Ignis figured it couldn’t hurt to conveniently forget to tell Noctis the artist had died. Well, presumably. All those paintings in that set were old. He had no idea by how many years, but he could tell by looking at them. “We’ll paint it like it was. Then the artist never finds out.”

“Good idea, Ignis.” Noctis nodded.

Ignis pulled Noctis along by the hand down the hall when they arrived at the residential floor of the citadel. He only prayed the prince wouldn’t say anything stupid in front of the guards, or they would both be doomed to a week without video games. Ignis could handle the restriction better than he could deal with Noctis whining about it. More than anything, he didn’t want Noctis to feel as if he had let down his father. 

Ignis shuffled through the art tools in the playroom. Watercolors wouldn’t be thick enough, but the king had gifted his son with an acrylic paint set and a set of thick art paper not long ago. Ignis found them nearly untouched in one of the bottom drawers, along with a paintbrush. He had seldom done much art outside of school. All he could remember was some basic color blending. If he was careful, he would be able to at least disguise the creative “sword” Noctis had blessed the image with. The scariest part would be getting back to that room and hoping it was empty—and stayed that way.

Which was a nearly impossible wish, given that the room was the one right before the throne. People were always in and out of there. 

“You have to keep watch, Noctis,” said Ignis when they returned to the elevator. All the tools for fixing this mess had been stuffed in a backpack he often carried around. It usually held toys and books for both of them, along with a couple of coloring books and some markers. One of those markers happened to be the black one Noctis had used to deface the painting. 

“I’m sorry,” said Noctis.

“About what?” Ignis smiled. “Nothing happened, right?”

“Right!” 

But despite Noctis’ enthusiasm to pretend nothing was wrong, his guilt returned not long after they had slipped back into the room. Noctis was posted at the door, and Ignis mixed paint on a little sliver of cardboard to match the colors. The paintings were mostly dark, but the black of the marker stood out among all the billowing smoke and dark red flames.

At least the doodle was small. It might have been worse if Ignis hadn’t looked up from his book in time and stopped the prince. 

He tested one of the colors. It was hard to tell until it was dry, but it seemed a bit too light. And something about it seemed out of place. Ignis squinted. Ah, the brush stroke. How would he pull that off? All he had were childish materials to fix something of historic importance. 

Noctis neared to take a look, and Ignis glared at him.

“What’re you doing?” whispered Ignis. “Watch the doors!”

“I’m sorry, Ignis.” Noctis crept over to the doorway and glanced out. “No one’s coming,” he mouthed. 

Ignis sighed and tried another color. The paint was a little closer, maybe too dark, but it would have to do. He tried his best to blend it in with the rest, using black liberally to mix it in with the other colors. All the accuracy in the world couldn’t save him from a lack of practice, though, and he could tell the blotch was merely a cover up.

Anyone would be able to tell.

“Someone’s coming!” Noctis hurried over and sat down on one of the benches, and Ignis folded up his cardboard and smashed it into the backpack. There were little flecks of paint on his hands. 

Two guards came through, formally greeting Noctis before they entered the throne room. Once the door was closed, Noctis heaved a breath, and Ignis realized he’d been holding his own as well.

“I’ll give you half my dessert today,” said Noctis. 

“Unless you eat with your father,” said Ignis.

“Nah, not today. He’s busy.” The prince bowed his head.

“I have my own dessert.”

“But you saved me.”

“Maybe.” In a few days, they would find out. Ignis had come to realize that sometimes mistakes were discovered weeks later. Was there an expiration date on when they could be punished? 

“Let’s go back to my room.”

Ignis glanced over at the painting. From a distance, it didn’t look terribly noticeable. Maybe after it dried, no one would be able to tell at all. 

“Good idea,” said Ignis. The further from this place they were, the less likely they would be named the culprits. It didn’t bode well for them that both of them had been seen by two of the crownsguard, but how many kids could ever have pulled off what he had done, trying to replicate the style and color of a painting? Surely no one would ever put it together.

The two left, Ignis wondering if Noctis had forgotten why they had been in that room in the first place. Originally, it had been so Noctis might catch a glimpse of his father if he left the throne room—even waving to him sometimes would make the young prince’s day—but how sad that they would need to wish they weren’t seen in there at all, especially by the king.

\-------------------------------------------

“Clarus, there’s something off about this painting.”

Clarus stepped beside Regis and followed his gaze until he noticed the blotch of off-colored reddish-gray sloppily decorating a corner of the art. Unlike the paint around it, it had not yet cracked with age and temperature. 

“Looks like someone tried to add to it,” said Clarus.

“Or cover something up.” Regis pointed with his pinky at one corner, where a black line was sticking out of one end of the blob. “I’d say that is marker, wouldn’t you?”

“Boyhood mischief?”

“More than likely.”

“Would you like to have them rounded up in the throne room for interrogation?” Clarus doubted Gladiolus would be that stupid. In fact, if he had to guess, he suspected the young prince was responsible—and maybe that attendant, Ignis, but even he seemed unlikely. But this was the sort of thing Noctis might do. He was at that age where he perhaps hadn’t thought over the consequences of drawing on walls or other people’s historic paintings.

Regis chuckled. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

“As you wish.”

“But can you contact the museum and ask them if they might be able to restore it? We’ll act like nothing ever happened.”

Clarus nodded. “I’ll make the call. Why are you letting them off the hook, whoever these culprits are?” 

“Because I don’t feel much like scolding anyone, and I’m sure they’re very sorry. Look how hard they tried to cover it up.” Regis pointed at the painting again, and both men burst into laughter together. Regis clapped Clarus on the shoulder. “They never need know how terrible of a job they did.”

“I don’t think I would’ve done any better,” said Clarus, whose interest in art reigned about as high as having tea with the Emperor. “I’ll call the museum in the morning.”

“Thank you, Clarus.”

**Author's Note:**

> Before you enter the throne room at the end of the game, you can examine a painting that starts up a short conversation about how Noctis once drew on one of them, but you can't see the damage because an attendant of his (obviously Ignis) did a great job of covering it up. 
> 
> I made Noctis five 'cos even that feels like pushing it with the reckless drawings (unless he did it deliberately, but that's not how I wrote this) on something important...so I went with five for him and seven for Ignis. But if that's the case, how did Ignis do such a great job of covering it up? So that's why I made it seem like the two thought they did a decent job, but in actuality Regis just had the damn thing restored. :')
> 
> I hope I didn't make Ignis sound too mature for his age. I wanted to find a good balance between Ignis still being a child but being a smart and well-mannered one. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading!


End file.
